


down to my skin and bones

by barmaid



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: (to lovers), Friends With Benefits, M/M, Minor Sumeragi Tenma/Settsu Banri, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22593514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barmaid/pseuds/barmaid
Summary: Chikage kisses him for the first time somewhere in February.Navigating emotional intimacy is hard for the ex-loners. Itaru finds this out very quickly.
Relationships: Chigasaki Itaru/Utsuki Chikage
Comments: 8
Kudos: 194





	down to my skin and bones

**Author's Note:**

> my love letter to chikaita... ive been working on this since feb 10 2019. theyre everything.  
> dedicated to my chikage >3

Chikage kisses him for the first time somewhere in February, in some unpopulated alleyway where the half-melted snow elects to rest atop the aunnings instead of making its way to the ground.

It doesn’t feel like the kisses in the movies from somebody you’ve been pining after for years. (Okay, it’s not like he was expecting it to go like that anyway. Itaru’s been pining for no more than a few months.  _ Tops _ .) The only fireworks in his eyes stem from closing them too hard, and he quickly surmises that when it’s five degrees out any type of excess heat would send a rolling wave through his body.

(He finds the awkwardness oddly calming though; finds it relieving how this, like many things about them, hasn’t ended up a cliche. Itaru doesn’t know how things would be different if they were more predictable than this.)

His hand slides up Chikage’s side, arm slinging around his shoulder to pull him in closer. They don’t talk when their lips part for air, and instead Chikage leans back in with his knee between Itaru’s legs and his fingers in his hair.

They stay there for a long minute after they break, breathing each other in as the city moves around them. 

“Can I…?” Itaru whispers, hand resting against the top of Chikage’s back. Chikage rolls his eyes but gives him a sufficient nod, and Itaru tries not to think too hard about how this isn’t the first time he’s felt like Chikage has looked at him like he owns his world. Maybe he does. Maybe he wants to.

It’s oddly intimate, and it half makes Itaru want to say ‘Gross, Senpai,’ and half makes him want to follow the paths his fingers massage at the nape of his neck with kisses. But he prays to the sky that this isn’t the final straw, that Itaru doesn’t have to carry out hundreds of different fantasies in this shitty alley before his world suddenly shatters around him and Chikage is running again.

He has time, hopefully, which is why he doesn’t bitch and moan when Chikage gets a call and silently drags him by the pinky back to Mankai.

...

He does, in fact, end up having time.

One kiss turns to two, to three, to four, to as many as it takes to quell the disturbingly loud want that constantly screams at him from the back of his brain. Dating taking away from his gaming time doesn’t seem too bad when he gets to see that look on Chikage’s face, gets to hear him pretend not to chuckle when Itaru’s head is tucked in his shoulder, and-  _ shit _ that’s the second strike time he’s missed this guild wars.

He doesn’t look at Chikage the same anymore. And sure, it’s not inherently a bad thing, but maybe discovering that you’re literally addicted to kissing your coworker isn’t the best realization to have directly after moving in together.

‘Hey, Senpai, we’ve been kissing a lot lately and I think I like it a little bit more than I was expecting? What do I do?’ Doesn’t necessarily sound like something Chikage would vibe with hearing very much. Neither does any cheesy line from a dating simulator multiple choice situation, even the ones where he’s romanced the demon antagonist.

Where’s the play guide for this? Where’s the walkthrough video? The google searches he’s desperately dug through don’t tell him anything he doesn’t already know, and neither do the people he’s dropped hints to.

He tries to bring it up, he really desperately does, but common sense and the little voice in the back of his head tell him that he risks fucking it all up if he tries asking. And he really,  _ really _ , likes kissing Chikage. 

Maybe he just really,  _ really _ , likes Chikage.

…

Itaru, when asked, would not say he’s a romantic. He hasn’t been to a wedding since he was six, hasn’t laughed at a romcom unless you count making fun of Banri for crying during one, and hasn’t ever celebrated Valentine's Day with something other than a livestream or a therapy appointment. 

But there’s probably something at least  _ somewhat _ inherently romantic about wanting to write a shitty poem about somebody, and maybe Chikage is just really special or Itaru is just secretly really soft, because poetry descends to reciting sonnets and starting on his wedding vows for somebody he’s ninety percent sure he isn’t even dating.

Which would be fine, for somebody not like him. Somebody who isn’t honestly, from the depths of their heart, the biggest coward to ever exist. Telling himself that it’s fine left like this is a lot easier when he has the instant gratification of Chikage’s hand on his ass than when he gets invited to another mixer where he’s expected to take a girl home to his parents. It feels a lot less like requited romance and a lot more like pining when he tries his hardest to not make eye contact while he’s surrounded by a group of his female coworkers.

“I’m sorry,” Itaru tries to say one night, hand on Chikage’s chin. He gets offered a look that says something like ‘Did you eat the entire box of Cheez-Its in one sitting again,’ before Chikage pushes his hair back to kiss at his earlobe again, and Itaru just loses that train of thought as soon as he caught it. He doesn’t even know what he’s apologizing for, because _obviously_ , if it were _really that_ logically important, Chikage has always been the brains out of them anyway.

It’s okay.

…

As always, for being so careful about not wanting to mess up one of the most important things to him at this point in his life, Itaru sure does an exceptional fucking job at ruining it all.

The words don’t come out as he means them to.

Of course they don’t, they never have, never will.

It feels like a belated high school confession that Itaru never experienced. His hands are inexplicably sweaty and he trips over his tongue more times than he can keep track of, but he feels almost scarily relieved before he sees Chikage’s blank expression under the kitchen light.

“I’m sorry, Senpai, I don’t want you to think that I don’t like what we have I just-” (Didn’t want to keep lying to myself anymore. It’s selfish, it’s all fucking selfish. What’s a person like him to desire? Why does he  _ want _ to be desired just as much?)

The moon is blinding outside and the silence is deafening, and Itaru can feel the tremors start to wrack his brain.

If he were holding the weight of Chikage’s world at some point, it's now slipped out of his fingers and shattered on the floor.

…

Chikage stays in the dorm longer than Itaru expected after that, at least, but when he hears the door click open a little after midnight, he knows where this is going.

So his little pea brain, which has very intelligently rationalized that he’s already fucked up terribly and can’t possibly make it any worse, decides to pause the RPG he was playing and swivel his chair around.

Chikage is standing a little out of the doorway, suitcase in tow, and if this were any other situation Itaru would take notice of how the moonlight that reflected off of his face made him look ethereal, and he wishes he could (cheesily and pathetically) tell Chikage how beautiful the moon looked tonight.

Instead, he takes off his headphones and shuffles his way over to the door, grabbing Chikage by the wrist and holding tight.

“Please don’t do this again.”

Itaru clings onto the twill of Chikage’s coat, fingers burying themselves into the material. He almost wants to laugh, because this is about to make the score two to zero for times Itaru had successfully helped Chikage with his emotions and two to zero for the times he’s wished he could. 

He isn’t quite sure how he would explain this one to Sakuya if he couldn’t handle it himself. 

“I just have some things with the company I need to handle, I’ll be back in a week-”

“You didn’t have anything as of this morning.” Itaru says, like Chikage doesn’t already know that his lie has no realism. His fingers clench a little tighter. ‘You don’t have to do that with me,’ he wants to say, but that sounds like some inspirational dialogue stolen straight from a character that isn’t himself. Not that he or Chikage have ever been incredibly keen to personal vulnerability anyway.

“Things come up,” Chikage says, not ‘I’m sorry,’ or anything Itaru has been puppetting him in his head saying for the last twelve hours. “Listen, if it’s the play you’re worried about, I made arrangements so I could be back for the performance. I’ll be around.”

“It’s not about the play. You know that. Do you not even-” He’s mad, he knows Chikage knows he’s mad, and yet his voice still carries no sting, “care about,” (He can’t even say it. He wants to cry.)

“You know I do,” Chikage spits, “I made a promise with Hisoka to protect everybody here. That includes you.”

Itaru pauses to bite back a bitter laugh that bubbles at the back of his throat, and his fingers loosen for a moment in a fragile, precarious hope that Chikage won’t take the chance to run out the door. 

“I figured you were done with the self-sacrificial stuff when your redemption arc was over, but apparently you’re still at it.” He says, eyes focused on the empty Pocky box beneath his feet that slowly blurs in the bottom of his view. He looks up, eyes meeting the back of Chikage’s head, and he lets out a sigh.

“Can’t you just be selfish for one second? Can’t you want something for yourself, and not for Hisoka-san or some overly-dramatic goal of repairing your image with him? Can't you see that we all want you to be happy? That he wants you to be happy for yourself? That you’re allowed to be happy?”

‘ _ All of Mankai includes you, too.’ _

‘ _ I’m trying to be honest with you. Can’t you just be honest with yourself?’ _

“Watch your mouth, you’re being hypocritical.” Chikage snaps, eyes glaring holes through the door handle. “I can’t protect you if you purposely step on a landmine to prove a point.” 

“Can you just-” He starts, whipping his head around to face Itaru. 

Chikage shuts his mouth before it comes out, and heaves a sigh from deep in his chest.

“I really do have to go.” He says instead, breathy and unaffected if not for a hint of anger.

It goes quiet.

“I’ll be back before the play. If you need anything before then, you all have my contact.”

Itaru’s fingers pathetically drop from the jacket, nails clenching white crescents into his palms as they rest on his thighs.

Itaru sighs in defeat, some distorted death sound effect playing in his head. He waits for the respawn button to appear, to transport him back to his last save point about fifteen minutes ago, but it never appears and his feet just feel more heavy as the clock ticks by.

“Okay then. Goodnight, Senpai.”

He waits for a sarcastic retort that never comes as the wheels of Chikage’s suitcase clack against the hardwood.

“See you soon, Chigasaki.”

The door slams shut.

...

And yet, like the sun appearing after a week of overcast, Chikage barrels back into his life like he had never left. He doesn’t bring up the incident, so Itaru doesn’t either. It’s a mutually unspoken agreement, he thinks, as if the burning questions in his head and the ghost of lips on his aren’t bothering him at all. If Chikage doesn’t care to bring up anything, then Itaru doesn’t either.

...

It’s not as if things don’t change between them after that. 

It’s probably not noticeable to anybody else, but Itaru likes to think he’s always been perceptive when it comes to Chikage. He excuses himself a bit earlier, a bit more hurried, and he’s gone for longer stretches of time. He doesn’t (purposefully) run into Itaru at work anymore, and they don’t spend their lunch break lazing around in the break room between their two floors. The conversations they share when they’re actually together for longer than thirty seconds are shallow and meaningless, and it throws Itaru back into how things were between them before Chikage joined Mankai.

They don’t kiss anymore too, obviously, and Itaru wishes he could get that little fact out of his head. He thinks about it a lot, when he’s so touch starved because Chikage won’t as much as flick him on the forehead now, and he discovers that he misses it a lot.

A  _ lot _ .

He starts streaming more to get his mind off of it, which he firmly refuses to believe is pathetic. (It’s a completely healthy and normal coping mechanism for when your not-quite-boyfriend-unromantic-senpai is ignoring you.) 

Not  _ quite _ boyfriend.

Not…..

Not boyfriend, right? Acquaintance. Friend, maybe, on a good day. Nothing more. Acquaintances can kiss without feelings. It happens.

“Fuck.” Itaru clicks his tongue, watching as his character on the tv screen falls to the floor, twitching. Another avatar jumps on top of it, confetti and rainbows flashing over their head.

“Man, is something up?” Banri asks as he kicks his feet up onto the table. (Itaru shoves them off. He’s not  _ that _ much of a degenerate. There’s still plenty of good pizza on the coffee table, afterall, that he refuses to let Banri’s disgusting fucking athlete’s foot come even close to.) “Rude.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Itaru fiddles with the controller as his side of the screen goes through the loss stats. Rank down, level barely gone up…

“You haven’t been on your best game lately.”

Itaru frowns.

“You win once and you start talking like a big shot, huh?” He laughs, but even to his own ears it sounds forced and pathetic. “You won’t be saying that when I fucking destroy you next round.”

“Mhm, okay.” Banri nods, skipping through the character selection. “Bring it on.”

It’s quiet for a few more rounds of Itaru losing, save for some frustrated sighs and agitated button spamming. Banri just looks at him and sets down the controller.

“This isn’t fun, you don’t stand a goddamn chance like this.”

“One more round,” Itaru says instead, picking the controller off the couch and shoving it vaguely in Banri’s direction. “If I lose, I won’t ask again.”

Banri feigns thought for a moment.

“Yeah, yeah, real convincing, that gets you a lot of places I’m sure.” He kneels in the doorway, putting on his shoes. At least what Itaru thinks are shoes, they’re some weird crocs-hybridー

“See ya. I’m going to go talk to my very real, very not-ignoring-me boyfriend.” Banri pauses. “And I’m going to take him on a very real date where we have a very real conversation that lasts longer than-”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“And we’re going to hold hands and  _ kiss _ and-”

“You said you were leaving.” Itaru says bluntly. He’s spending five minutes that could be spent doing literally anything else bickering with an actual child. “And for the record, Senpai is  _ not  _ my boyfriend.”

“I never said anything about Chikage-san.” Banri playfully winks. Bastard. “And yeah, I’m leaving. Right after I’m done bragging about my wonderful… amazing… romantic… completely and totally in love with me boyfriend...”

“Just so you’re aware before I do it, being the responsible adult in this situation won’t stop me from kicking your ass.”

Banri laughs.

“Woah, woah, scary Itaru-san! I better get going on-”

“Don’t fucking say it.”

He winks as he finally,  _ finally _ heads out the door, leaving a small crack open so Itaru can hear his parting words.

“You better be back to normal tomorrow, ‘cause loser pays for pizza.”

Itaru clicks his tongue, frustrated. “You’re on.”

The door closes with a soft clank.

...

The reasonable, responsible thing for Itaru to do would be to tidy up before Chikage comes back today, to throw away the empty box and bottles of soda before he comes and tells him what an absolute pigsty he’s living in. But at the same time... He can’t really bring himself to care. He’s resided in worse, both pre- and post-Chikage, and a little mess and some residual ham smell won’t necessarily  _ kill _ him.

So instead he naps, sprawled out on the couch in some sweats he hasn’t washed in a month and with dried tomato sauce marinating on his cheek, and he makes a solid effort to not dream about a certain unromantic senpai who’s been ignoring him. (Or anything that’s been said to him about that subject.) (It doesn’t work.)

He wakes up from an imaginary Chikage with a blurry face to an open door and a sore back.

“Welcome back,” Itaru groans before actually checking if anybody is there. “Sorry about the mess.”

“I’ve lived with you long enough to know that you aren’t really, Chigasaki.” Itaru sees hands moving in his peripherals and he assumes Chikage is making dinner, or something, and he immediately feels a bit more on edge. That didn’t used to happen.

“Sorry for not saving you any food, I was planning on getting takeout or something again tonight anyway if you wanted some.”

Chikage turns around abruptly from the kitchen. “Pizza? You think I’d  _ want _ that?”

“Courtesy. Besides, I’m sure you’d eat dirt if I put some spicy shit on it.” Itaru flicks his wrist, trying to show something akin to comfort. (Acting natural has never been his forte, it’s always been easier to tiptoe around the problem than be confronted about it.) (Chikage never got the memo, surprisingly. Or maybe he did and just ignored it, just to make Itaru’s life harder.)

“It’s never been like you to have good manners. Has something gotten into you? Are you sick?”

“Maybe I am, actually, Senpai. I think I have rabies or something.” 

Chikage sighs and sets down a... spatula? “Yeah, I can’t say that I’m surprised.”

“Ouch,” Itaru cusps his hands over his heart. “Oneshot K.O. That was a low blow even for you.”

“Sometimes in order to win you can’t play by the rules.”

Itaru chuckles. This feels somewhat normal. “Yeah? Do the rules talk about trying to confuse me so I’ll shut up?”

“I just said that I don’t play by the rules, Chigasaki.”

Chikage’s grin is visible even from the couch.

“Woah, no need to talk like that, I guess I can maybe  _ let _ you win right now if it means so much to you.”

“Ouch… K.O.”

Itaru furrows his brow and sticks out his tongue, leaning back into the cushion and letting his blanket swallow him whole. “Gross. Never use slang again. I won’t want to associate with you anymore.”

“Hypocritical, coming from you. I don’t think I’d ever think the same of you if I had to sleep in here. What were you yelling about the other night until three in the morning? Fortni-”

“Okay, first things first,  _ Senpai _ , it’s the  _ tastefulness _ of it that matters. It’s only uncool when you do it. Second thing, I told you to get out while I was streaming. Don’t complain to me, because it’s not stopping.”

A shrug of his shoulders told Itaru that he wasn’t listening anymore and that he had gone back to cooking, and they lapsed back into the uncomfortable silence they’d been sitting in since  _ the _ night.

This was  _ his _ room in the first place, maybe it’s everybody’s fault for forcing him to cohabitate with somebody else when he’s always been such a loner. It would’ve been so much easier had Chikage just stayed in his… wherever he goes when he leaves the room. Itaru’s life would have been so much easier had he and Chikage maintained a perfectly healthy and balanced co-workers relationship that doesn’t extend past the courteous offer of lunch out.

But for some reason, not knowing Chikage past acquaintances puts a bitter taste in his mouth.

Were they even  _ friends _ ? Is this just what comradery feels like? Is it normal to think of an acquaintance in those half-conscious moments before you fall asleep and the same fog that comes with waking? Is he getting too far ahead of himself by thinking of him as even  _ just _ a friend?

He thinks about it a little harder. He doesn’t really know that much about Chikage when he thinks about it. He knows his name, and…

Well, there’s things about Chikage he knows that he can’t put into words. But at the same time, when he goes down the list- ‘What’s his favorite color?’ ‘Does he like cats or dogs better?’ ‘What type of music does he like?’ or ‘Does he like music at all?’ Itaru can’t find the answers. Is that shallow? Are those things you need to know before you can be friends? He knows these things about other people he’d consider as such, odd facts that came in unrelated conversation, but he doesn’t know Chikage’s answers at all.

Maybe it was unsafe of him to let Chikage around for longer than necessary when his favorite color is probably beige. Gross, fitting, and totally unromantic. Way to go, past Itaru. It wasn’t like that was out of character.

Itaru sighs, pushing himself up to sit, and Chikage looks at him like a total stranger is just there on his couch. The tension fizzles for a moment, heavy in the air, but calms down as they let it sit and fade away.

“Chigasaki.”

“Yes? Don’t say that like I’m such a hindrance to your precious kitchen time, Senpai. I live here too.”

‘ _ Unfortunately. _ ’ The roll of Chikage’s eyes say. “Catch this.”

And with the coordination and skill only a highly trained spy would have, he flings a stained Christmas rag (Itaru got it from his sister as a gift the year after he moved out, she said the atmosphere in his inner city apartment felt pathetic, and well, who was he to talk back?) across the room at Itaru. 

“I can’t take you seriously when you have sauce all over your face.”

“Oh? So Senpai actually wants to start taking me seriously?”

This time he doesn’t get a warning before a stray sponge grazes his head and nearly takes him out.

“Whoops. Sorry, Chigasaki, it must have slipped out of my hand.”

See this, this was normal.

He can only hope it’ll last.

...

“Hey, wake up.”

“Nnn…” A voice groans, muffled under the crunch of winter leaves. “Itaru… You’re so noisy. Leave me here.”

Itaru sighs and takes a few steps forward, twigs breaking under his feet. 

“Look, I have a bag of these…” He spares a glance at the bag crumpled in his fist, hastily ripped open and probably no good from how long they’ve been sitting in his room. “Jelly-stuffed marshmallows.”

Itaru hears rustling for a second, but a hand darts up from the ground before he can react and snatches the bag from his hand. Hisoka takes a single marshmallow out and studies it for a moment, before popping one in his mouth.

“Bleh.” 

Itaru raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Hisoka nods, dropping the bag, and the leaves crackle under his head as he lays back on his side. “Stale. Gross. Goodnight.”

“Hey…!”

“Zzz…”

“Tch. Despawned.”

Itaru paces for a minute, tapping his heel against the concrete as he thinks of a way to wake Hisoka up without possibly being murdered. Could Hisoka even do that? ‘ _ Of course he could _ ’, Itaru’s brain helpfully supplies, but  _ would _ he do that? (‘Maybe’, Itaru’s brain says, so it’s better to not risk it.)

“You’re thinking too loud.” Hisoka mumbles from the floor.

Zip your mouth and throw away the key Itaru, your life isn’t worth some odd infatuation with your senpai, it’s not the end of the world...

“Chikage is happy around you.”

Itaru’s brain skids to a halt.

“Senpai…? Who said anything about-”

“You, actually.” Hisoka yawns. “You’ve been mumbling under your breath for the past 5 minutes. Noisy, noisy.”

“I wasn’t-” Itaru chokes. Ah, he’s blushing. What is he, like ten years old? His face is so hot and his palms are so sweaty and he feels like he’s going to die, like Hisoka has figured out some sort of life-altering thing about him and not the object of his super, super, small and unimportant… something.

(Maybe he has figured out something important. Maybe Itaru just doesn’t want to admit that yet. Not when the puzzle pieces are flying around in his head and the fact that probably the closest person to Senpai just said that he makes him  _ happy- _ )

“Don’t think too much.” Hisoka says, barely over a whisper. “I think you’re a very special person to him.” He draws on, not a hint of hesitation, and Itaru can just barely pick out the fondness in his voice over the beating of his own heart. 

Itaru lets out a laugh that sounds only a bit more pained than usual and scoffs. “You’re really good at telling people what they want to hear.”

“Don’t say it like that. I don’t lie, Itaru.” 

It’s only a few seconds before he hears a soft snore and he’s left to his own thoughts again.

“Thank you.” Itaru whispers as he sets the bag of marshmallows down next to Hisoka. They weren’t going to get any use being stuffed back into a corner in Itaru’s room anyway. Senpai would probably find them one day and chastise him for trying to attract roaches. ‘Like yourself.’, the Chikage voice in his head continues.

Itaru smiles at Hisoka, breathing even and cuddled up on the sidewalk before leaving with an awkward wave. Was he supposed to like, drag him back to his room? With his scrawny arms that can barely lift a piece of paper? Maybe he’d slip a note under Homare-san’s door and hope he notices before he’s forced to walk by Hisoka again. Or by anybody who would’ve seen him mumbling to a dead body.

Or, he could just go back to his room without talking to anybody else and rot in his own thoughts for a while, there really was no harm in that.

…

“You know the deal, fifteen dollars for a shot, going until midnight or,” Itaru looks at the clock, 7:47. “...I run out. I’m going to be playing BE and switching to grinding for fire GW if I don’t feel like keeping up with the story anymore.” 

He winks at the camera and the chat blows up. He almost feels bad for not recognizing anybody besides the mods, but he has trouble remembering one or two names, let alone a few thousand.

“So, who’s going to get us started off here?” Itaru sits on the title screen for a few seconds, waiting to hear the jingle. Ding ding.

“There it is! Thank you, fueledbyspice77!” He laughs as he pours the first glass, raising it to the webcam. “Cheers!”

“Holy shit, that’s a lot stronger than I remember it,” Itaru wipes his mouth on his sleeve, squinting to read the chat. “You know, fueledbyspice, your username reminds me of a friend of mine.”

_ ‘Ooh!!! Taruchi is giving us his backstory!!!!! _ ’ A few people exclaim in chat, a few others demanding he gets on with the gameplay.

“Well, I’m actually not sure if I would call us-” He opens up his latest save to his player character standing awkwardly in the middle of a dining hall. “Oh, hi Dimitri. Anyway, sorry, I’m not even sure if you would call us friends anymore.”

_ ‘What happened?!?!?!!!’ ‘You can talk to us!!!’ ‘I hope everything is okay!!’ _

Itaru has to laugh.

“It’s okay guys. We have all night, don’t try getting me to open up after one shot.”

He immediately gets the notifications for three more donations, five dollars each.

“Thanks to,” He looks up at the corner of his screen. “gamestopbooty, mikufan19, and spampoginchat. Don’t do the last one.”

He pours another shot, this time with a more halfhearted gesture to the camera. “Down the hatch.”

He sets the glass down a little too hard, and he wonders pitifully how he’s overshared too much already. Maybe he needs to start seeing a therapist again, seriously, because it’s not normal to start spilling out after a shot or two.

“Alright guys, give me ten minutes to actually play, or else I’m never going to get anything done.”

He doesn’t get much done in the ten minutes either, and he doesn’t get much done in the thirty after that either. Each time he pushes back the limit, the faster a donation comes when he says he’s ready to go. (‘This is a genius business model.’ Itaru thinks, ‘It’s like they’re paying  _ me _ to go to therapy.’)

“Yeah,” Itaru says, eyes barely following the words that pop up on his screen. He knows he’s at least a little bit, (See: a lot bit,) tipsy, but he’s still in his head enough to know that if somebody he knows is watching he’ll be utterly fucked. “He made out with me for  _ weeks _ and then ran away when I said I wanted to date him,”

He looks to the corner of his screen expectantly, and then sighs when there’s actually no new popups. “I like,” Itaru starts, trailing off as he tries to follow the chat, “You know when you’re playing Smash, and your fingers are moving really fast, and you’re sweating and shit, but you still don’t win?”

“Or like, you end up moving too fast and you fall off the edge as a result? Like the world is saying ‘Fuck you’?”

“That’s what it feels like with him.” 

Ding ding.

“Thank you, himboslut_, I seriously can’t keep my dignity  _ and _ talk about this while I’m self aware anymore.” He overpours the shot a bit, and there’s definitely some reference he’s forgetting about sandwiched in here. 

“Cheers.” Itaru says, and in the same breath, “I think I’m going to be switching to GBF for the rest of the night.”

…

Chikage comes home at sometime around 11:13 or 10:19, the numbers all look the same in Itaru’s blurry peripherals.

“Senpai,” Itaru grins, and then turns back to the monitor to rest his chin on his hand. “It’s him.” He whispers to the screen, and Chikage rolls his eyes.

“Hi,” Chikage says as he walks over to the computer, holding his coat over his arm. “Are you streaming?”

“Mmm… Yep.” Itaru’s hands are around his waist and his head is resting on his side quicker than his fight or flight reaction can make up its mind, and he instead stands perfectly still. “You smell good.”

Chikage puts the pieces together. “You’re drunk.” 

Itaru opts to ignore that, clicking around a bit to make the chat display larger. “Did I not say we were roommates?” He says instead, still squinting at the screen. “Yeah, we are.”

“And you’re talking about me right in front of my face too, you must be really gone.” Chikage tries to (gently) push his head off. “You’re going to regret it tomorrow if you don’t let me put you in bed right now.”

Chikage only sees the pout Itaru makes through the feedback in a small box on the screen.

“See how mean he is to me? Why do I even  _ like _ him anyway?”

Itaru stays blissfully unaware of his words, clicking and dragging absentmindedly with a stretched arm, and Chikage is suddenly kneeling down to pick Itaru up off the chair.

“You’re going to bed.”

“Senpai,” 

“Itaru.” 

“I’m sorry for ever calling you unromantic… I’m going to die here…”

Chikage sighs, clutching tighter where his fingers are rested over his ribs. “Don’t think that just because you’re drunk it gives you an excuse to say stupid things.”

“But it’s true…” His eyes close and Chikage is convinced that he’s about to watch Itaru force him to come to terms with 25 years of buried feelings  _ and _ pass out in the twenty seconds it takes to walk from the computer to his bed. The asshole.

Itaru’s eyes snap open. 

“The stream.”

Chikage lays him down, (Well, maybe drops him a little bit. But that’s on Itaru for forcing him to carry him to bed anyway.) ignoring him in favor of walking back over to turn off the computer.

“Goodnight, Chigasaki.”

…

Chikage, for the first night in years, finds himself more scared of what a pleasant dream could hold rather than a nightmare.

…

Itaru wakes up with a killer headache, twelve missed calls, and three-hundred and four unique Lime notifications.

“Fuck,”

The sun is shining, birds are chirping, and Itaru has woken up approximately three hours late for work.

“Good morning, Chigasaki.”

“Ah,” Itaru drops his phone flat on his cheek, wincing. “Ow. Shit, what are you still doing here?”

Chikage rolls his eyes, pushing up his sleeve to rest the back of his hand on Itaru’s forehead. “Are you actually sick? Did you need me to tuck you back in?”

Itaru elects to ignore that, swatting Chikage’s hand away. “Did you call both of us out? That’s a little suspicious, Senpai.”

“Like you haven’t called out for worse. What was the excuse last month? Food poisoning?”

“Fuck you, you wouldn’t understand the stress that comes with ranking tier one.”

Chikage smiles softly, chuckling, and Itaru feels like Chikage has given him a little piece of his world again. Maybe not the whole globe, but he can work his way back there again. He needs to learn to be less selfish, anyway. “I’m sure I wouldn’t. That must have been so difficult for you to deal with.”

Itaru is hungover, half-asleep, and probably falling in love with Chikage.

It dawns on him like it’s completely normal. There’s no tidal wave that comes crashing down, and Itaru feels less like he’s had a realization and more like he’s finally put together what’s always been there. 

Maybe Itaru doesn’t know Chikage’s favorite color or whether he prefers cats or dogs, but he knows what he looks like with bedhead and his favorite scent of shampoo. He knows that Chikage has a scar on his left shoulder that he doesn’t like talking about, wears two mismatched socks when he’s in the dorms, and can only listen to music without headphones on.

Maybe he’s a little self-assured, but perhaps he doesn’t need to know everything about Chikage to be important to him. That’s probably not what he really wants anyway, knowing him. 

But then how does he know he’s special? Is it selfish of him to want to be special to Chikage?

‘ _ Why can’t you let yourself be happy? _ ’

Maybe he is a hypocrite. Chikage has always known him better than he knows himself.

Itaru thinks that’s pretty special.

…

Itaru is fucked. Not literally (unfortunately,) but figuratively, literally fucked.

He should’ve assumed that something was wrong with 300 Lime notifications. Maybe his stream was raided and he was too drunk to remember, maybe he said something controversial and he finally got his well-deserved callout post that he’s been looking forward to for years, or maybe, just maybe, Itaru has fucked up again and now all of his fans are asking about his boyfriend.

Does this constitute an emergency? Has he shattered the little piece of the world that Chikage has entrusted him with again?

How does he kindly say, ‘Hey Senpai, I know I’ve already messed things up between us, but we have maybe two days before everybody at work asks us if we’re dating.’ 

Itaru is going to stop drinking while streaming, he swears. He doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, doesn’t even know how he got into his bed last night, and-

Well that explains one thing, Itaru thinks, as he stares blankly at a cropped, blurry image of Chikage princess carrying him on stream.

He’s going to die right here just so he doesn’t have to deal with this anymore. Itaru rubs his temple and sighs, filing that image of Chikage in the back of his brain along with MMDs he made in middle school and cringe compilations he has at the bottom of his Youtube likes.

…

“Senpai…” Itaru hums from the couch, hair falling over the armrest. “Welcome home, come play KniRoun with me.”

Chikage sighs, slipping his shoes off and brushing Itaru’s bangs back to make eye contact.

“I think you might actually be sick, you’re acting crazy.”

“What could you possibly be talking about?” Itaru pouts, throwing his controller down on the cushion next to him. “Fine. Maybe I don’t want to play with a cheat character anyway.”

Itaru lifts his head and turns to face Chikage just so he can see how upset he is. Out of the corner of his eye, Itaru sees them.

Chikage is wearing mismatched socks.

Suddenly everything from this morning comes falling down around him, and he wants to dig through his laundry basket to throw his phone down the stairs instead of ever opening it again. He’s going to pay Sakuya to deactivate his Lime without looking at anything and that’s when Itaru is officially going to die.

“Hey, don’t look like that.”

Chikage sits down next to him, and Itaru is suddenly hyper aware of how warm Chikage is where their arms touch. If Itaru were any less strong, he doesn’t know how he would restrain himself from burying his face into Chikage’s neck. Itaru wants to rest his hand on his nape and thumb at his cheek while he kisses promises into Chikage’s lips that he’ll never fuck up anything again. He wants to share his world after Chikage has given him his. He wants Chikage to know that he’s vulnerable too.

Itaru reaches forward instead. He’s suddenly uncomfortable with how messy he’s left the table, but it’s not like Chikage has ever minded before. Why does he have to mind the one thing Itaru’s had on his mind for months? Why is this what ruins everything?

“Here, Senpai, let’s rerun the epilogue.”

“Again? Weren’t you just complaining about how ‘sick of heterosexual romance in media’ you were?”

“Wow, look who listens to me.” 

“Sometimes I wish I couldn’t.” Chikage scrolls through the character skin list, deciding on a holiday recolor of Gawain. “Did something actually happen?”

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard something romantic come out of your mouth.”

(Itaru wants to hear Chikage’s vows at his wedding. He wants to be the receiver of them even more. Would Chikage cry? Would he tell Itaru that he’s always loved him? He wants Chikage to be romantic and vulnerable and open with him for the rest of their lives.)

(And yet even through rose tinted glasses, Itaru still pictures their wedding vows as fittingly unromantic.)

“I’m serious. I know I’m not the most..” Chikage’s hands shift on the controller. “But, you’re important to me, okay? I won’t get in your business if you don’t want me to.”

Itaru watches the npc’s death animation flash by blankly, and now he’s found himself playing a game with no walkthrough. 

“Yeah,” Itaru thinks that’s the worst possible way that you can react to emotional intimacy. “You too.”

The game continues on silently, and Itaru knows it’s now or never. He either says something now, or the second Chikage goes back to the office it’s game over.

Itaru’s pea brain doesn’t help him.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Chikage looks at him like he just asked if the Earth was round.

“I don’t know, what do you think it is?”

“C’mon, Senpai, what if this is what I was feeling bad about?”

“I’d hope it wasn’t.” Chikage pauses for a moment to kill an npc, clicking his tongue when the npc lands a critical hit on him instead. “It’s blue.”

“Oh, cool. Blue is nice.”

“Is this what you really want to talk about, Chigasaki?”

“Don’t be so rude right after I called you romantic, that’s gross. I’m just trying to find out more about my wonderful Senpai, is that so wrong?”

“Chigasaki.”

“Shut up. This is hard, you know? I’m not good at this.” Itaru combs through his hair, suddenly craving a long nap and a hot shower.

Itaru steels himself and holds in a breath. He’s a little dramatic, but he somehow finds solace in that if he were really in danger Chikage would have to do some sort of CPR training. Well, maybe. He’s so unromantic he would probably make Banri come do it just to piss him off. That’s gross.

When he opens his eyes again to make eye contact, Itaru makes the turning point decision.

Itaru is still young, dumb, and probably in love with Chikage. Maybe if high school would have been different, this would be too. Maybe it’s perfect how it is.

Afterall, the warmth of Chikage’s hand is still in his, and the couch still sinks where their thighs rest against each other. This is their couch, their dorm, their lives. 

“I want to spend every day of the rest of my life like this.”

Chikage scoffs, but his smile says everything Itaru needs to know.

“Playing KniRoun? Of course you do. I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

“No,” Itaru starts, “But yes, but I meant,”

Itaru is not only young, dumb, and probably in love, but probably somewhere around the emotional maturity of a fifth grader too.

“With you.”

Itaru sees the cogs turning in Chikage’s head, hoping that he comes to the same realization that he’s had. Itaru can feel the tension he sees in his shoulders, and he wants to let Chikage relax and know he is loved.

Even if it’s by him.

“Is  _ that _ what you meant?” Chikage sounds almost like he’s going to laugh. Not exactly what Itaru was expecting.

“What?”

“You’re a very talkative drunk, you know? You were doing a-”

Itaru dies inside. “I don’t know what I said and I don’t think I want to know.”

“If it brings you any consolation, I think I would be able to live like this forever as well.”

“Thanks, Senpai. Means a lot. I’m glad you tolerate me.”

Chikage’s leg presses a little harder against his, and Itaru thinks he might need that CPR soon.

“Is that not what you just said? Correct me if I’m wrong, I guess.”

If Chikage could not carry his body weight without breaking a sweat and wasn’t presumably constantly armed and combat trained, Itaru would kill him now.

“I’m going to kiss you.”

“Feel free.”

Bastard.

If the tidal wave hadn’t hit Itaru before, he can feel it slamming down on his shoulders as his lips meet Chikage’s. They’ve kissed before, multiple times, tens of times, probably hundreds of times, but there’s an underlying want and need that makes Itaru feel like it’s their first time in that alley all over again.

He wants another first time, a do-over, and he wants Chikage to know from the start that he is scarily and unabashedly loved. Itaru wants him to feel the aching want under his skin that burns like fire, and he wants to know that Chikage feels it too.

Itaru feels a hand grip his thigh, scarily close to his ass, and when he’s pulled into Chikage’s lap he’s put into his fiftieth near-death position of today.

Cause of death number fifty: Itaru probably (definitely) likes being manhandled.

Itaru definitely likes the way hands trace over his skin, grabbing and scratching like it’s Chikage’s to own. He would probably give Chikage anything he asked for, anyway.

It’s the most intimate they’ve ever been, and when they break it’s like waking up in a field of flowers. Itaru, once again, finds himself aching to write poetry.

Maybe he can now.

They’re still a few corners away from getting it solved, but the puzzle pieces are all there now. They have time. They really do this time. It doesn’t need to be figured out right this second, Itaru thoughtfully concludes, as he watches Chikage pause KniRoun before setting his glasses down and taking off his shirt.

It’s okay to be imperfect. That’s how they’ve gotten this far.

...

Cause of death number fifty one: Itaru probably (definitely) is in love with Chikage.

  
  



End file.
